


Touching With Kindness

by AZFell_Ineffable



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Torture, Inspired by Art, M/M, Other, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Touch-Starved Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21537979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZFell_Ineffable/pseuds/AZFell_Ineffable
Summary: Inspired by a comic by @usedtobehmc on Instagram. If you review all six episodes, no one touches Aziraphale with any kindness. Given his propensity to visit the barber, his book character's manicures, his propensity for tight-fitting waistcoats and being totally covered at all times, and his love of eating, like many other writers, I came to the conclusion that Aziraphale is touch-starved, and that Heaven is even worse than Hell in many ways.CW: mentions of past physical abuse and being touch-starved, as well as mentions of anxiety without mentioning the word.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 417





	Touching With Kindness

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["The story of how Crowley and Aziraphale spent the night in a bathtub before they'd even had sex."](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/537511) by usedtobehmc. 

Before the Great War of Heaven, it was quite different.

Angels trusted each other, and touch was a way of expressing that trust. It wasn’t uncommon to see groups of angels lounging together with their arms around each other, or grooming each others’ feathers when they weren’t attending to their Heavenly duties. 

But since the Fall, Heaven had grown cold and distant. Trust was present among angels in the most conditional of ways. One had to prove their trustworthiness, especially because it was unconditional trust that had led to the downfall of ten million angels and the breaking apart of friends and families.  
Or so they thought.

If you had asked him, which no one, not even Crowley, had, Aziraphale was of the opinion that the Fall had occurred because Satan had believed there was another way to do things, and others had agreed. He was also of the opinion that Crowley had only Sauntered Vaguely Downward because he admitted that Satan had made some good points worth considering, even if he didn’t agree with everything the Lightbringer had said.

But no one asked Aziraphale, because quite frankly, he had always been seen as the worst of the angels. Aziraphale didn’t remember, but he sometimes wondered if the only reason Crowley had Sauntered and he didn’t was because he didn’t have Crowley’s courage to admit to his fellow angels that he had been questioning. Aziraphale had questioned too, he just hadn’t shared his thoughts with anyone. 

But now, Heaven did not believe in unconditional trust. They had regular testing to prove that angels were still loyal to Heaven, and any transgressions were met with physical punishments. Aziraphale, being the worst of the angels, had been subject to far more punishment than any other Cherubim or Principality. 

It was the only form of touch he had received since the War. 

He had never told Crowley. In the past, he had forced himself not to trust Crowley, because Crowley was a demon, and therefore part of the reason why Heaven was so cold now. Crowley never touched Aziraphale, not really. There were occasional brushes of shoulders while walking, accidental hand touches when both had reached for bottles of wine at the same time or unintentional leaning on one another when they were too drunk to keep their boundaries up. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had been subject to torture or punishments in Hell too, and maybe that was why the demon did not touch him.

Before Armageddon, Aziraphale had stomped on those “wonderings” without mercy, knowing that even the smallest slip-up could either chase Crowley out of his life forever or cause Gabriel to find out and punish Aziraphale more severely than ever.

Aziraphale knew full well which outcome he would rather have.

But now, Armageddon had come and gone. Heaven and Hell had tried to destroy Crowley and Aziraphale, and they had utterly failed, thanks to Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy. The two of them had dined at the Ritz in celebration and were now strolling towards Aziraphale’s bookshop in Soho, silently taking in the world around them that could have been destroyed. Aziraphale’s fingers were clutching at each other tightly, the pads of his thumbs smoothing over manicured fingernails in an unconscious attempt to soothe. 

“Angel…”

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, his eyes widening slightly in question. Crowley had his sunglasses over his eyes, but it was still very clear that his expression was one of concern as he looked at Aziraphale.

“You alright? You’ve been a bit…you’ve been flinching a bit since we switched back,” Crowley asked. Aziraphale forced a smile and nodded.

“Of course, my dear, it’s likely just a side-effect from the switch. It’s never been done before, after all,” 

This was, of course, a blatant lie. Aziraphale had been fidgeting and flinching since the switch for one very simple reason – Crowley had held his hand in order for them to switch back.  
They had done it back at Crowley’s flat as well in order to make the initial switch, of course, but Aziraphale’s mind had been preoccupied with being relieved that it had worked and ensuring that the two of them could mimic each other effectively enough to fool Heaven and Hell.

Now, however, Aziraphale was free of Heaven. And all he could think about was the fact that Crowley had held his hand in a kind of handshake, and it had not felt violent. It had felt…warm. Gentle. 

It had been so very long since anyone had touched him so kindly. He was far too used to being hurt and in pain. He surrounded himself with books, cocoa, tartan and other things that made him feel warm and safe, and dressed himself in fitted clothes that had been worn for a long time because they were comfortable and let himself feel touched without touch. 

That simple touch of Aziraphale’s hand had been driving him into madness as lunch had progressed, and Aziraphale was trying very hard to keep it at bay.

“Aziraphale, you might have a new body, but you’re still awful at lying,” Crowley looked displeased, and Aziraphale felt quite awful at having put that expression on his demon’s face. “C’mon angel, spit it out, what’s with you?”

“I…I just…” Aziraphale stammered, his face flushing. He had allowed his corporation to express some basic physiological human responses to stimuli when he had received it before his first assignment in Eden. Blushing was one of them, and he found that this corporation was very much inclined to blushing, particularly around Crowley. Another was finding himself tongue-tied when Crowley asked him a question that unintentionally cut too close to the box Aziraphale kept all his emotions in that pertained to the demon. 

“Angel?” Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale, looking worried now. Aziraphale watched with wide eyes as Crowley lifted one hand out from his jeans pocket and placed it on Aziraphale’s clothed shoulder. Aziraphale had never wanted to burn his own clothes before, but he could see the appeal now if it meant getting to feel Crowley’s skin on his own. As it was, the gentle touch felt like a warm burn, like standing just a little too close to a fireplace. Aziraphale took a deep breath through his nose to savour the touch and then nodded at Crowley.

“Inside,” he said hoarsely, stepping over to his intact front door and opening it with a miracle to let them inside. Under normal circumstances, Aziraphale would have been hurrying through the bookshop to make sure all his books were intact since they had burned to a crisp while he had been inconveniently discorporated. But after two gentle touches from the person he loved most in the world?

Aziraphale couldn’t care less if they were on fire again, because he was currently burning with his own need.

Crowley strode in after Aziraphale and closed the door behind him with a wave of his hand, locking it. He followed Aziraphale towards the backroom, but instead of Aziraphale leading him inside, the angel led him to a staircase in the corner that he knew led to the angel’s very disused flat. Aziraphale heard Crowley pause for a moment, before continuing to follow him up the stairs. He realized that Crowley had never actually been to Aziraphale’s flat. Granted, Aziraphale hardly ever used it, only when he wanted utter privacy. It had been a few years since he had used it. But now, he was about to reveal it to Crowley. He was incredibly nervous.

He opened the door and walked in, holding the door open for Crowley. Crowley walked in, pulled off his sunglasses, and took in the surroundings, his golden serpent’s eyes widening.  
It wasn’t just that this was the letting down of a boundary they had been forced to maintain. 

There was (of course) a squishy, soft tartan sofa in the living room, done up in Aziraphale’s own tartan, which differed from Heaven’s greatly. On the sofa were several large, fluffy cushions and a duvet that Crowley recognized as a weighted blanket. There were fluffy slippers next to the sofa and a large, deep red quilted dressing gown draped over the back. The antique coffee table in front of the sofa was covered with books that were bound with fabric or textured covers. The rest of the flat had the standard furniture, all several years behind the fashion and dusty. The impression was that Aziraphale rarely used the flat, and when he did, he tended to situate himself on the sofa and nowhere else.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale curiously, clearly wondering why they had come here. Aziraphale, for his part, was trembling all over, desperate to feel something gentle. He could usually stave off the desire with the blanket, the robe, the slippers, the pillows, baths, even visiting various small businesses for massages, manicures and haircuts, but there had been so much happening in the last eleven years, and he was in his safe space with the one person he trusted more than anyone in the world…

“Forgive me, Crowley, but may I take your hand?” Aziraphale croaked, his own hand already reaching for it, but just stopping shy of Crowley’s arm. Those beautiful butter-yellow eyes widened in shock, but Crowley nodded minutely. Aziraphale felt a wave of relief overcome him as he closed his shaking fingers around Crowley’s left forearm, pulling Crowley’s hand from his pocket and placing Crowley’s hand on his cheek.

“Angel?” Crowley whispered, not understanding, but not protesting either. Aziraphale closed his eyes and reveled in this gentle touch, even though he was the one making it happen. He felt Crowley’s hand between his face and his own hand, and breathed unsteadily.

“I’m…thank you, dear, I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale murmured, feeling his face flush as he nuzzled Crowley’s trembling palm. “It’s just…” he opened his eyes and looked into Crowley’s. He wanted to be honest with Crowley, and he refused to do that like a coward. “I love you…and I wanted this to happen differently, with a proper night out doing something you love, wearing our Sunday best and with a ring and everything, but…you took my hand, and it felt so wonderful and…it’s been so long since anyone touched me and it didn’t hurt,” 

Aziraphale felt like he had run a marathon. His breath was shaky, his face felt sweaty and red and his eyes were burning. No, he was crying, not sweating. Strange. He couldn’t remember ever crying before, not even when Heaven had used all manner of implements to discipline him for his gluttony.  
Crowley wasn’t breathing. Aziraphale was wondering if Crowley had frozen, when he finally spoke.

“There’s…angel, you said a lot of things that I need to process. But what do you mean by hurt? Who hurt you?” Crowley’s voice was low and dangerous. Aziraphale flinched, and Crowley’s fingers curled gently around Aziraphale’s face. Oh. He wasn’t angry at Aziraphale for letting himself be hurt? Crowley was always annoyed at Aziraphale in the past because Aziraphale kept getting himself into trouble and Crowley had to rescue him.

“I mean…well, I’m not a very good or well-liked angel up there, Crowley,”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Crowley murmured, looking sad.

“Well, since the Fall, angels have been ordered to prove their loyalty to Heaven, and if they are found lacking, they are given…discipline,” Aziraphale shuddered, this time in horror at the memories rattling in his brain. Crowley’s eyes narrowed.

“Define discipline for me, angel. You’re not telling me you had to write lines, are you?” 

Aziraphale smiled wanly.

“I know you read the Harry Potter books to Warlock, so to put it this way, I did, if the lines were administered by that awful teacher in the fifth book. And that was on a day if I did well but made a few small mistakes,”

Crowley’s eyes blazed with fury.

“They tortured you?! Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?!” he hissed. 

Aziraphale smiled sadly again.

“Dearest, what good would it do? We couldn’t have done anything. And you’re not telling me that Hell didn’t torture you at all? I know they didn’t when I was you earlier, but they certainly had you chained up, and I did assume that if it wasn’t holy water, it’d be an eternity of torture,”

Crowley shook his head. “Hell has places of physical torture, but they’re for human souls. If a demon fucks up, the torture is a lot of paperwork with Dagon or cleaning out the rooms where the humans get tortured or having to feed the hellhounds for a few hundred years, which could get you killed if you aren’t careful. Also, staying in Hell with no chance of leaving for a good long while is punishment enough. I’ve always managed to wriggle out of it, being Hell’s only agent on Earth. Ex-agent now,” he explained. He looked horrified and heartbroken. “Are you telling me that them ordering you to walk into hellfire and Gabriel telling you to shut your stupid mouth and die already would have been completely normal?”

Aziraphale chuckled darkly. “My dear, having to walk into hellfire might have been a blessing. And Gabriel has said and done far worse to me,” 

Crowley looked incandescent. He looked like he wanted to hit something very badly and was struggling with the impulse because he was still holding Aziraphale’s cheek. He seemed to be able to choke down the desire because he stepped closer to the angel and wrapped his other arm around Aziraphale’s waist.

“If you don’t mind, angel, I’d like to hug you first,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale’s heart leapt and he shook his head, letting go of Crowley’s hand so that the two could embrace properly. Aziraphale rested his forehead on Crowley’s shoulder and sighed happily. He could feel Crowley relaxing into the embrace and burying his face in Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale had never felt so calm and content in all of his life, even when learning the gavotte or magic tricks. 

Then, something Crowley had said settled in Aziraphale’s brain.

“What do you mean, ‘first’?” he asked, lifting his head. Crowley laughed gently.

“Hug first,”

“Right,”

“Then, this,” he pulled away from Aziraphale slightly, cupped the angel’s face with his slender hands, making Aziraphale sigh with delight, and then leaned in to press his lips to Aziraphale’s tenderly.

Aziraphale’s heart raced, and he kissed Crowley back, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands slid from Crowley’s waist, up his back. He had often wondered what it would be like to kiss Crowley. This was another one of his “wonderings” he had hacked to pieces to prevent anyone from knowing. But they were on their own side now, and they didn’t have to hide from each other anymore.  
Crowley pulled away, a crooked smile on his lips. Aziraphale looked at him with awe and delight. 

“I love you too,” Crowley whispered, making Aziraphale laugh slightly in joy. He had hoped, but had never dared to hope too much for this. 

“Come on, angel,” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and began to walk him through the flat.

“Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked, wondering why Crowley didn’t want to keep kissing. He had rather enjoyed that.

“I think I know just what you need,” Crowley smiled at him as he walked backwards. The two of them did not veer into the bedroom as Aziraphale might have thought, but into the bathroom. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at his demon as the lights came on. Aziraphale’s bathroom was painted a pale mint green and had claw-footed, deep, copper bathtub. With a snap of his fingers, Crowley had the bathtub filled with steaming hot water that seemed to be scented with lavender. A black bath pillow rested on one end of the tub and the bathroom lights dimmed. Two bath towels, one black and one white, were resting on the sink. Aziraphale stared at the scented water, and then back at Crowley, who was taking off his jacket, and looking back at Aziraphale as if to ask, “do you want to?”

In response, Aziraphale began undoing his bow tie. 

Within a minute the two of them were unclothed and lying in the bathtub. Crowley’s head was resting on the bath pillow, and Aziraphale was curled against the demon’s chest, half on top of him, with one leg entwined with Crowley’s. Aziraphale felt tears of gratitude rolling down his face as he wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist. One of Crowley’s hands was in Aziraphale’s hair, stroking it gently, as the other was wrapped around Aziraphale’s bicep. Aziraphale listened to Crowley’s unnecessary heartbeat as the demon sang an old Italian love song, one of Aziraphale’s favourites, gently and soothingly. 

He had never felt so loved, so cared for and so soothed in all of his life. His mind was silent, in a way it had not been in over 6,000 years, and felt overwhelmed with joy and peace. Even the presence of the Almighty had not incited this feeling of being blessed. 

“Oh, and Aziraphale?” Crowley murmured into Aziraphale’s temple, pressing his lips to it. Aziraphale hmmed to let Crowley know he was listening, but otherwise felt too blissful to speak. He felt Crowley’s lips curve into a grin that if he could see, he imagined would be positively mischievous. “The answer to your other question, the one with our Sunday best and rings is yes. It’s been yes for six thousand years,”

Aziraphale’s face broke into a delighted smile and he tightened his grip around Crowley’s waist, pressing his face into Crowley’s chest.

“Good to know,” he sighed in pure happiness, enjoying the way Crowley’s chest rumbled with his own contented laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> These characters belong to Neil Gaiman and the late Sir Terry Pratchett, I'm just playing with them. The story is also not entirely mine, it was inspired by a very touching comic by @usedtobehmc on Instagram. There is some absolutely gorgeous fanart for Good Omens out there, and I am here for all of it.


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